About Penny

we’ve all been bitten by the odd bug or so, we all learn to live with this minor irritation.

jk, i dunno about you guys, but i scratch every bite till it bleeds. yeah i know, scars blablabla. dont. care. absolutely do not care. its worth it.

anyway, with this less than tolerant attitude towards mosquitoes, i’m sure you can fathom how certain more tropical climates might not entirely agree with me all the time. to clarify, i’m not sure how the rest of the world is, but mosquitoes in switzerland are mostly harmless (as harmless as evil bloodsucking parasites can be), whereas the ones in the US, as an example, are horrifying. if you don’t believe me: my brother once saw a mosquito land on his leg in the US, and he slapped it, and the mosquito not only survived but proceeded to bite him anyway. it then flew away unscathed. a goddamn survivor.

suddenly the word mosquito reminds me of mojito, but obviously if mosquitoes were mojitos the world would be a very different place. *whistful sigh*

and considering all this, i just want to say that my recent trip to portugal with my boyfriend was lovely – beautiful beach, sunsets, the works – except for one tiny detail. the mosquitoes. now you may think i’m exaggerating, but let me tell the story:

portugal, as some of you may already know, is a rather warm country. very warm, in fact. so there we are, bf and i, trying to get a good nights sleep. sweating. gasping for breath, trying to suck in the humid air. totally survivable, tbh. i actually slept rly well. we spent a few nights in these conditions, it was alright.

but then, tragedy struck. we got too confident. and we *audience has baited breath* decided to sleep with the window open. let in the fresh cool air. let a nice breeze caress our skin. it was tempting, and we were weak.

the first night like this was quite alright. we got a few bites, as expected, but it was nothing we couldn’t deal with. our plan had been a success.

“lets continue on this path”, we thought, “this seems totally livable”, we thought.

…

……

………

we were wrong.

the second night was worse, and we woke up covered in bites. the annoyance really had become too strong at this point, and we decided – like any smart person would (honestly i don’t think you even have to be smart for that) – to shut the window from now on.

and wE FORGOT.

tuckered out from an exhausting day at the beach, we crashed in the bed and fell right asleep. believe me when i say that the next morning i woke up because of my itching body. because of it.

cursing and feeling stupid, we slammed the window shut and thought this would be the end of our suffering.

again, we were wrong. (i’m almost tearing up thinking about how wrong we were.)

you see, apparently our bedroom was a very attractive bedroom to the mosquitoes, and the mosquitoes, seizing the opportunity we had foolishly provided, had migrated into the bedroom. colonized the bedroom. they probably had tiny flags and celebrations and everything. not to mention further populating their new home.

and in the evening, of course, in we walked, a giant feast for everyone, with our inviting plumpness, pulsating veins, enticing body warmth (i know this description may be disturbing, but i’m trying to write in the mosquitoes’ point of view).

we literally watched them sitting on the ceiling, doing exactly this.

the feast tried to sleep, but it was a restless sleep. every ten seconds another mosquito would help itself to our deliciousness, every time a little bit of sleep and a little bit of patience was drained from our bodies along with the blood.

we woke up miserable, desperate, hoping that the next night would be bearable. it wasn’t.

the mosquitoes were relentless! untiring!

nearing insanity, my bf and i started swatting the air at every hint of a bug, but to no avail.

eventually i was starting to feel like one huge mosquito bite, and at last, when i could take it no longer, i let out a cry of utter despair, kicking and hitting the mattress, got up, grabbed my pillow and duvet, and announced that i would be sleeping on the couch in the living room. bf followed suit.

at about 5 in the morning, we finally fell sleep. grateful, peaceful sleep.

the next day we investigated the situation, and were forced to acknowledge that the bedroom had, in fact, become more mosquito-invested than the actual OUTSIDE.

Not only that, we also found a GIANT COCKROACH in one of the clothing drawers (even the thought is making me shudder – and i, mercifully, will not include a picture). A GIANT FU**ING COCKROACH. A MONSTER. A DRAGON. IT COULD EVEN FLY. I WOULD GLADLY HAVE PROVIDED THE FIRE EXCEPT I FIGURED IT WOULDNT BE SMART TO BURN DOWN THE HOUSE. to be honest, the cockroach deserves its own story, because the effort we had to go through to get rid of it was just. oh god. just trying to forget. #scarredforlife #worsethanmosquitobitescars #wayf*ckingworse

We slept on the couches for the rest of our stay.

And actually, we continued to thoroughly enjoy the trip, however, we were from then on plagued by nervous, slightly crazy ticks every time we thought something other than air had touched us (and i’m sure anyone with long hair can sympathize with my situation on that one), and did have at least one conversation about how to create optimal mosquito-torture devices (we did think about the ethical issues regarding such ideas, however, we also decided we no longer give a flying eff about mosquito rights. those motherfudgers can die excruciating deaths for all i care, because i dont).

The moral of the story, basically, is that i hate mosquitoes.

But everythin’s just dandy now :D and i can also highly recommend portuguese food.

Ever since I can remember, my relationship with wolves has been a tedious one. Unbalanced, to say the least. To be perfectly honest, I sometimes feel a little attacked. ‘Why?’, you ask. I suppose I’d have to say that’s because they have frequently attacked me.

Don’t worry, I haven’t actually been mauled by wild beasts and I don’t have a shredded, scarred face (still as gorgeous as ever) – but once you hear the persecution I have had to endure during my oh so short life-time, I’m sure you will agree that we’re talking about some true childhood trauma.

You see, it all started when I was maybe six or seven, and my dad would read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” to my brother and me. ‘Broaden their minds’, he probably thought, ‘open their eyes to entirely different, new worlds, boost their creativity.’ Innocent enough, it would seem.

the dreams and images our supportive young father probably meant to show us (but oh, the painful reality)

But do any of you remember that one, terrifying scene? The one that changed my life FOREVER?

That’s right. Maugrim the wolf.

I’m not even joking when I say that this picture still haunts me.

As Maugrim was described, from cowardly, simpering Edmund’s point of view (who is, by the by, also the reason I have a strong aversion to all names beginning in “Ed” – maybe I should look into these Narnia issues), I remember how he came to life in my mind, not knowing that this image would never, ever leave.

It started out harmlessly enough. My midnight trips to the bathroom now became terrifying leaps across the hallway, attempting not to be eaten by the wolf that – I was convinced – was guarding the doors. Probably a healthy enough fear of the unknown, or the dark, or whatever.

However, then the nightmares came.

Family members being devoured, being pursued by wolves at the supermarket, being chased by wolves while my legs hopelessly malfunctioned.

And it gets better.

We used to babysit this adorable, fluffy little dog named Spike. We all loved Spike. Spike loved us. (R.I.P. Spike. <3)

this isn’t him, but he looked pretty similar.

Well, imagine my shock and horror when Spike showed up in my dreams with rabies, started eating his own thighs, and then proceeded to bite my mother, so she had rabies too and started attacking all of us.

I mean what. the. actual. fudge.

Or how about the time this cartoon wolf turned up on our balcony: He had a bright red nose – a bit a la Rudolph – and he was trying to eat us, and my mom managed to whack his nose off his face with a spatula, and he just took a new nose out of his pocket and said “hahahaaa new nose!” and fixed it on his face and we were left helpless, about to be murdered.

Now, don’t say I haven’t tried to free myself from this situation. For years, I insisted that wolves were my favorite animals, in a desperate attempt to pacify whichever evil wolf spirits were determined to ruin my sleep night after night.

It didn’t work (just to be clear, tigers are my favorite animal, and since I’ve only been attacked by a tiger once, and that one time I had force-field powers to protect me, I’m going to stay loyal to this claim).

Even now, my frantic sprints up the stairs and to my bed after turning off lights are caused by a sense of snarling wolves close behind me. Just last night, I watched a horror movie, and instead of afterward being afraid of whatever was in the movie, I became convinced that if I left the couch, wolves would attack me.

I have a serious problem.

Oh, and to all you who don’t understand why I’m a cat person and not a dog person: This is why I’m a cat person. This is why.

I was thrilled to come across your job ad on thiswebsite.com, as I feel like this is one of the few jobs I am qualified for with only a high school diploma, and I really really really want to earn money so that I can spend it (those driving lessons aren’t going to pay for themselves).

Basically, I know everything about your coffee, because I practically live in the Starbucks coffee house nearest my home and have spent way too much money on “these beans, ground for french press, and umm..a caramel macchiato tall to go” (the upsides of having a gold membership card) so at this point, it would really be more beneficial for everyone if I just worked there.

Since I was quite an engaged member of my school’s solidarity club for three and a half years, I also know exactly how to serve people cake and coffee (including remembering to refill the napkin supply) – and this is definitely the professional quality you are looking for.

I’m also a people person (aren’t we all), so I’d love to become a super motivated new part of your team and help customers receive maximum service and enjoy every sip of their cappuccinos even more than they did before. (Actually, since I really really really want to earn money, I would in fact be super motivated.)

Now I’m kind of done with my pitch, so I’d just like you to know that I’ve attached my CV to this email (a CV that has nothing to do with coffee, because I’m still secretly hoping to find a job that will have something to do with my future career, and also because fundraising bake sales can only fill so much space), and I greatly look forward to your reply! You’ll probably reject me because someone else has more experience, like spending a summer at McDonald’s. I tried, though.

I considered titling this post “why we can’t adopt a child”, but figured that would require too much explaining. Instead, some of you may remember that time my mother decided that a proper pet should serve as interior decoration (The Aesthetics of a Perfect Cat – choosing a pet)*. Well, this is a sort of continuation of that :D

It is true that, in many ways, my mother and I share the same taste (when it comes to Jude Law, for example, or the fact that chocolate cake is not adequate unless it is basically a brownie). However, some fundamental differences have cropped up. These differences include views on curfews, skirt lengths, bright purple nail-polish, tomatoes, or cats, as previously mentioned. But never did I expect for it to go so far as….

CHILDREN

it’s not what it sounds like

i swear, youre getting a totally wrong idea! #diggingmyowngrave

The thing is that my mom and I have had multiple conversations in the past like this:

Penny: That’s a cute one!

Mom: Nah…

Penny: It’s a baby, how can you be so mean?

Mom: It’s just ugly.

innocent child, blissfully unaware of the harsh critique it is receiving

Or this:

Mom: Ok, that one’s cute!

Penny: Hm….I suppose. It’s not quite my style.

Mom: What’s wrong with it?

Penny: It’s too pale. I like the chubby ones with sparkly eyes and everything. My mother did wish for me to specify that this is a sort of parody of reality, and that she does find all babies to be adorable (except for the screaming ones), especially the ones with sparkly eyes and everything. I guess I shouldn’t go around misrepresenting people like this.

ok, so this one might be suspecting something…

Fortunately, my mother and I probably won’t be adopting children together any time soon, so the problem remains irrelevant. Also, we’ve decided that my children will be the cutest anyway, so…I’m just going to be silent now…

Have you ever been strolling along, enjoying life, whistling, breathing the fresh air, thinking about how perfect the world is?

No? Well, let me explain my predicament.

Imagine you had ever experienced this bliss, and then imagine that this happiness suddenly felt more like a pain which was growing ominously in your chest, until your vision became a sort of colorful blur and you stood there in the streets, in danger of being run over by a tram, panicking and not knowing which way to turn.

Now, assuming you managed to cross the street without suffering a brutal death, you wonder what on earth just happened to you. You think back to 30 seconds ago, and you realize that the problem had a very simple answer: you were too happy.

How can one even be too happy? Perhaps I should rephrase: You weren’t appreciating your happiness enough. It was physically impossible to appreciate it. It became overwhelming. You couldn’t take it all in at once, and the guilt and the pressurewere just too much.

The hyperventilation is kicking in now – what if the happiness goes away and you didn’t use all of it?!!

(Use happiness? Yes, use happiness.)

What if your future is cold and bleak and your only chance to enjoy life is today, right now, or it will be WASTED FOREVER?

You realize that your only option is to intensify your appreciation, even if it seemed impossible until now; You breath deliberately, feeling the cool air fill your lungs and thinking hard about how lovely the sky, your friends, love, that pigeon over there is, oh how cute a screaming brat got ice-cream! THE WORLD IS AWESOME OMG!!!!!

The nostalgia of tomorrow is consuming your thoughts, and suddenly, you are close to tears!

Somebody release me from this hell!

And then, fried, your mind is wiped out, blank.

…

Am I really the only one?

Well, I suppose my point is this: Sometimes, I get really, ridiculously aware of what a huge thing it is that we are alive and active and that we get a chance to experience things on this earth, no matter how weird and sometimes horrific they are (e.g. screaming brats with ice-cream). And I believe that every once in a while, it’s healthy (to a certain degree) to stop and think about just that. It is the same reason that I don’t believe in regretting things, even if those things suck. You can dislike them, but hey, at least you did something. At least something happened to you. Absorb it and let it make you who you are.

yes, yes, i know… (suddenly wondering if i havent used this on here before). but srsly: think of all the things you could be doing instead of regretting something. what a waste of time.